Breaking the Butterfly
by khushiyan
Summary: Lex Luthor likes to ruin those beautiful butterflies. He revels in their destruction. ChloeLex


**Title:** BREAKING THE BUTTERFLY  
**Fandom: characters** SMALLVILLE: CHLOE, LEX  
**Theme/Prompt:** #18: LOVER from LJ community 50scenes.  
**Word Count: **790  
**Rating:** 12A  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** ERM, IT MAY HINT AT SOME BAD STUFF. DUNNO WHAT REALLY, SINCE ITS REALLY DEPENDENT ON HOW YOU READ IT, SO BE WARNED.  
**Disclaimer:** NEITHER SMALLVILLE NOR ITS CHARACTERS ARE OWNED BY OR FOR ME AND I DO NOT CLAIM THEM TO BE. I AM NOT MAKING ANY PROFIT FROM THIS, NOR HAVE I CREATED THIS FOR ANYONE ELSE PROFIT.

**Summary:** LEX LUTHOR LIKES TO RUIN THOSE BEAUTIFUL BUTTERFLIES. HE REVELS IN THEIR DESTRUCTION...

* * *

It is easy to break butterflies. It is so simple and liberating that he has become strangely addicted to it. He thinks it's amazing. That it is the only thing that gives you complete power. Complete control.

But to find those special butterflies is difficult for him. He doesn't know where the most precious lie, so he has to wait for them to come to him.

And finally, one does.

She glides through the room with ease, the hubbub of the room seeming to quieten around her.

He thinks she is perfect. He thinks he has never seen a butterfly as beautiful or enchanting as her.

He's jealous of all the men she talks to, all the men she brushes against, even the women she laughs so heartily with.

He has never wanted to be so close to her than he has right now. To just accidentally touch her when he passes her a glass of champagne, to just lean in closer to hear what she's saying. But she's so far away. She's constantly flitting about like beautiful butterflies do and he can't keep up- he has no right to.

She doesn't know this, but as a child, he used to collect butterflies with his mother. They used to stand for hours waiting, until finally, a perfect butterfly would glide towards them. They would wait and when the dear butterfly was close enough, they would swing their net around slowly and gently and capture it. It would be so magical, to capture those flying pieces of miracles. He never forgot how his mother told him that they never last, how they would die so young. It hurt him. So he put them in jars, thinking he would be able to save them, that he would be able to hold them. And once, he did. He gently tipped the jar out onto his hand, and watched it struggle for flight. Panicking, he ran to his mother. Her dismay was evident. As he cried for this loss of life, she told him that butterflies are more delicate than you and I. That even the slightest touch will cause them to burn to the ground. So he stopped searching for those butterflies. He didn't want to hurt them. And when his mother died, he felt a pang of guilt. That in return for taking the life of the butterfly, his own butterfly would be taken from him.

After that, he began to despise those butterflies. He thought that if his butterfly was taken from him, it would only be fair to do the same: to break other butterflies that didn't belong to him. And slowly, he's begun to love it. He's begun to admire the little acts of mercy he gives before he swoops down to break the last glimmer of beauty.

It is the same now: he sits here waiting for her to do something else magical; he knows she's a butterfly and he wants to hold her. He wants to break her.

She comes close to him, and even gives him a warm smile. He clenches his jaw, his every movement becoming so predatory now. His patience is wearing thin. He quickly stands up, and walks towards her and holds out his hand to her to dance. Dutifully, she takes it, and together they walk into the dance-floor to glide together.

She looks so perfect to him. Even with that slight look of fear in her face. Her glossy blonde hair sparkles in the light and he sighs as the sweet smell radiates. Neither of them speak. They wait for the next moment instead. He knows what will happen, but she doesn't and he loves the change in her face.

She doesn't realise it but he's slowly pulling her away to a dark corner. She's so mesmerised she doesn't even know.

He stands close to her and waits for her. Slowly, she lifts her gaze to him and finds him staring at her perfectly painted lips. His hand reaches up and he slowly wipes the red lipstick off her lips, his hand holding her soft face.

She is crying now. She's not sure why, but the tears are slipping down her face and onto him.

No one notices them. No one cares. He has broken so many other butterflies that it's become an art form. But now, as he breaks this beautiful girl, there is a strange sense of dread within him. He knows that it's wrong, especially to her, but he's become addicted to hurting those strange sparks of miracles. He can't help but love the tears streaming down her face.

And he prays that she does too. That she doesn't completely break so he can break her all over again.

* * *

_khushiyan_


End file.
